I Wanted to Be a Cool Young Dad — Not Do the Actual Parenting

Luckily I had the self-awareness (for once) to recognize it

Image by Pexels from Pixabay

This piece was originally published on Medium.com through the Life Without Children publication, which you can also follow here on Substack - Life Without Children

I spotted him in the grocery store, aisle seven.

Young, handsome and in good shape — one of those guys who’s “got it all together” and is winning at life. Like he’d stumbled out of a Ralph Lauren ad. In his sweater and Saturday-morning best, he squatted down to console his cherubic little son, all while holding an even-younger daughter securely within the other arm.

With no embarrassment the man was effusive and affectionate, quickly calming his boy, walking him gently through a teachable life moment. There were head pats, a dad-and-two-kids group hug near the ground, and then they moved along with their day, a glowing and successful family.

A good dad, a young dad in his prime.

Geez, they were everywhere these days, weren’t they? Guys in their late-20s, only a few years older than me, who were owning the father role, seeming so at home and living their full potential.

Maybe everyone’s right, I thought. Maybe I can try it too. Be a dad.

The rally cries started a few months before — “Oh Joe, you’d make such a wonderful father!” People felt the urge to share their opinions, casting me in the role at age 24. In their minds I had all of the winning attributes.

I was a good listener. Low-key. Even-tempered and patient. Not dangerous. Never violent. Best of all, I was a responsible type who seemed to have a future ahead of him. I didn’t drink to excess and didn’t touch drugs of any kind. I was lily-white vanilla in all areas. Sorta boring. I was empathetic and kind, like a good therapist. The ideal fella to be a dad at some point.

Only problem? I’d never spent a moment picturing or wanting it.

Not once did I see cute kids running around and think, “Yes, that’s for me — that’s the thing that’ll complete me.” I barely knew myself yet, so how could I be responsible for leading young lives and being all dad-like?

“Nah, I have enough trouble keeping my own head above water, paying bills and getting ahead, never mind with kids,” I protested. “I need to feel way more settled before I consider being a father.”

That should shut ‘em up.

“Joe, there is no good time. You’re never ready — you learn and adjust on the fly. Oh, you’ll change your tune in your 30s. Every father once thought he didn’t want kids, but soon realized what he was missing out on. You’ll see.”

Um, nope. That sounds more like a hell of a lot of guys railroaded into a role — a role that’s supremely important, by the way — all because society said it’s the “next thing to do” in life.

Those of you who’ve read my other stories may be waiting for me to mention one other big reason why I’d maybe never pictured myself as a father — because I was gay, yet hadn’t accepted it. I was fully closeted and didn’t know how to live as an out gay man. A conflicted mess. I’d been raised in extreme Catholicism, it was 1997, and I was still trying to date women to “fix” myself and never have to deal with “the thing.”

I barely knew myself at that point. I hadn’t lived as an authentic being yet in 24 years of life and was just getting by. There was no chance I’d be a good candidate for molding young lives and raising wonderful kids then.

I can hear some of you wanting to chime in — But I know plenty of gays who adopted, who worked with surrogates, men and women who really wanted kids and who are wonderful parents.

Yes, so true. I know many of these queer parents myself now too. They are lucky to have known what they wanted so badly. But it wasn’t my story.

Also, these were vastly different times in more conservative Ohio and southwestern Pennsylvania, and members of the LGBT community were rarely able to live out-of-the-closet lives and still adopt or raise children. If you wanted to experience being a parent, you had to start heterosexual marriages or at least date the opposite sex.

Now the opportunity had presented itself.

I was dating a woman whom I legitimately loved. The sex “worked.” Her family adored me. I adored them. I could picture myself as a dad perhaps for the first time. We hadn’t discussed it, but I was fairly certain she wanted children. I saw my future life forming before me. I could pull it off. She’d be a wonderful mother just like her own mother.

I was stepping closer to potentially being a dad — even though I’d never once pictured myself succeeding in the role. I could play it well, but did I have the stamina, the emotional intelligence and maturity to be a good, non-resentful parent? It’s not like all parenting anxiety ends when the kid turns 18. Did I want to take on the worries over another human, one who would still be my child potentially 50 years from now?

I wasn’t sure.

That’s when I started spotting (and studying) young dads out and about at movie theaters and in grocery stores. Ah, what would it feel like to be that handsome young dad? Wouldn’t it feel good, to be that? Yes, I want to be that — admired by others for being a good dad and doing a good job.

Those of you who’ve been parents no doubt recognize the flaw in my thinking. How often in parenting are you legitimately ever admired or recognized when doing a good job? I’m forever grateful that only ten minutes after that young-dad supermarket incident, a moment of truth smacked me hard in the solar plexus.

Oh shit. I didn’t want to be the young dad. Not really. I wanted to be seen as the handsome young dad in the eyes of others. I wanted to be admired — for the role. And how well I played it. Talk about a hell of a wrong reason to be a dad. Talk about a hell of a bad reason to marry a woman too — to be seen by others as a successful heterosexual man for a time.

Yes, I had the qualities to be a dad. But I didn’t want to be one. I’d make a great teacher or mentor, but not a dad. I know this.

I’m so grateful I had this heart-to-heart moment of truth with myself about parenting, and shortly thereafter, about my sexuality. The relationship ended and I started the slow work of getting to know the authentic, not-code-switching me, at age 26.

There are no doubt millions of young LGBT folks in their 20s and 30s today who grew up through the 2000s, and due to progressive societal change, pictured themselves as parents even when they were only teens in school or in college. Just like their straight counterparts. Because it was now presented as an option. A gay parent.

I love that, for sure. But here’s the funny thing. Once I was in my mid-30s, firmly planted into a relationship with a male partner, (the love of my life to this day), the questions started coming… again.

Don’t you guys want to have kids? Have you ever considered kids?

Seems there’s no escaping it — that question.

I thought I was safe once I identified myself as gay, but nope, society moved along and now people are asking their gay friends the same damn awkward question — when they’re going to finally have kids. When’s the shower? When’s the gender-reveal party?!

I’m happy to know at least a dozen gay couples who wanted kids, made it happen and have raised amazing humans. But I know myself. I have dad qualities, but I wasn’t wired for it, and thankfully neither was my partner. We’re on the same page with that and it’s wonderful. No kid should ride the creative-artist-paycheck-rollercoaster that is my existence.

Fact is, some of those men who were unstable messes in college, some of those who had reckless years in youth, turned out to be wonderful, empathic fathers. They have the life skills. Being a kind person or a good listener or even being “good with kids” doesn’t mean you’ll automatically be a good father or mother. Or want that.

I shake my head at the folks who still stand on the sidelines of all our lives, screaming comments like, “You’ll change your mind someday, you don’t know what you’re missing,” or even, “It seems like you’re being selfish.”

No. I’m the emotionally intelligent adult standing here in front of you, firm in the knowledge that I’m not cut out for it and won’t be a good parent. Anyone who’s worked in social services would be thanking me for that, giving me a standing ovation. I want all kids to have good, wonderful parents — not lost individuals who’re trying to fill an emotional void.

Three nephews and two nieces add immeasurably to my life, and I’m secure in the knowledge that I made the right decision in not trying to be that handsome young dad for others to admire.

Turns out, in aisle seven, I was probably just checking him out. Hmmm.

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